Motherless Child
by arodhwen
Summary: Cas is back. The crap's hit the fan. Or, the souls have hit the… fan…
1. Chapter 1

"Motherless Child"

Note: The first prose I've written in past tense or third person (stage directions don't count) in months. (Have to keep the writing muscles in shape, right?) Wanted to try to RP this situation with someone, but I'm either going to fall asleep or Cas is going to die before he finds a Dean on Omegle. So I tweaked some things, accidentally made up a plot, and now it's this. There wasn't a lot of effort put into this. Be forewarned. Zero editing. Negligible planning. It hasn't even got my beloved TV format. No act four. It's a travesty.

Warnings: Angst mostly, but I'm trying to keep it to a minimum. NC-17 for language and a very gory fight scene. No shipping. Just a monster hunt.

Description: Cas is back. The crap's hit the fan. Or, the souls have hit the… fan…

Chapter One: Some Day After a While

"So what'd you find out?" Dean asked Sam as he held the phone to his ear with his shoulder and started fishing through the trunk of the Impala.

"Not too much," Sam admitted. "The guy was a dead end, but I did manage to find a decent book at the library that may help us out."

"Great," Dean replied as he shoved some salt in his pockets. He'd run into a demon inside the building and was fresh out. "Well, any idea how to kill it?"

"Not yet," Sam informed his brother.

Dean pulled out the machete. "Well, I'll let you know about beheading pretty soon. Get reading, nerd boy."

"What? You found it?"

Dean was about to reply when he heard three gunshots from the alley. "I'll call you back," he said urgently and hung up. Dean checked the cartridge; it was loaded with silver bullets.

Gun aimed in front of him, he edged toward the alley, face set in determination. The hunter whipped around the corner. The demon looked up from the body it was bent over and Dean was startled by the monster's blue eyes. It stared at him for a full three seconds before whirling around and sprinting away.

"Hey!" Dean yelled and took off after it. He fired four times, and managed to hit it on the second and take it down on the fourth. He caught up, pointing the gun at its chest, its hands held up in supplication.

"Dean," it rasped. "You shot me."

"What the hell are you?"

"A thief."

Dean was about to ask when its eyes went from blue to grey to black and it stopped moving. He kept the gun pointed at it and dialed Sam with his free hand. "Dean?"

"Sam, does your book say anything about a thief?"

"You found the Thief?"

"Sure. Guess that's what I've done. Shot it full of silver-"

"Good," Sam interrupted. "That's what kills it. You need to get out of there. The Tracker won't be far behind."

"The what now?"

"Just get out of there, Dean. The Thief is the only one you can kill right now."

"Alright. I'll be there as soon as I can."

Dean hung up the phone and headed back down the alley, glancing left, right, and up for any other demons that might have been in league with the demon he just killed. "Hey," Dean said quietly as he crouched down by the Thief's victim. "We're gonna get you out of here, buddy."

He grabbed the guy's shoulder to turn him. "You're gonna be just- Cas?"


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two: Third Degree

Dean checked his phone for about the hundredth time since he'd gotten Cas into the passenger seat of the Impala and started speeding toward Bobby's. He'd gone over to Nebraska to chase a lead, and Sam had followed one in South Dakota. He glanced to his right at the unconscious… What was Cas? What kind of bullets did that demon have that could put down an omnipotent pseudo-deity? Or maybe Cas wasn't full of souls anymore. Maybe he was just their awkward angel again.

He took the exit for Sioux Falls and sighed. They'd find out when Cas woke.

Finally, Dean's phone rang. "Sam," Dean answered it. "Tell me you have something."

"Yeah," Sam said. "Tell me you have Chuck."

"What?"

"You don't?" Sam asked, alarmed. "Dean, these things go after Prophets."

"Are you sure?" Dean glanced at the still unconscious Castiel beside him.

He could hear pages rustling on the other end of the phone and smiled a little. Sam and his research: those were two things you could always count on to never change. "They go after Prophets," Sam explained, "because they can sense the holy stuff in them. They're also invisible to archangels, so that's how they've managed to nab any Prophets at all."

"They weren't after Chuck," Dean told Sam grimly.

"You found another Prophet?"

"I found Cas." Dean waited, but there was dead silence on the other end. "I'm about twenty minutes away. Get some alcohol, tweezers, needle, thread… He's shot up pretty thoroughly."

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "I'll get it."

"Thanks, Sam."

They hung up and Dean kept driving, glancing at his passenger, willing him to wake up and heal himself. It didn't happen, so Dean found himself in Bobby's spare bedroom, bent over the whatever-Cas-was-now, carefully removing the third and last bullet from his stomach. He poured a bit of alcohol on the wound before preparing to stitch it closed when he heard a sharp inhalation of breath. He glanced up at Castiel's face and saw that his eyes were open.

"Cas."

His patient met his eyes for a second and then immediately looked away, up at the ceiling. "Cas, there's something after you, man," Dean told him. "You gotta heal or whatever it is you angels do and fly your ass back to Heaven."

Cas only shut his eyes and did not reply. "Cas," Dean pressed. "You in there? You want to say anything? Because I've been sitting here plucking bullets out of you for the past hour and I think I deserve an explanation. A thank you, at least."

"Thank you." His voice was quiet and barely there.

"Cas," Dean sighed. "Talk to me, man."

He waited, but no response came. Dean returned to his task and poured on a little more alcohol out of spite before he started stiching. "Guess the soul thing backfired a bit," Dean remarked in an offhand way. "Still got your own in there?"

"Yes."

"Good to know," Dean laughed humorlessly. "I still just don't get why you didn't come to me, Cas. You picked a demon over us. Whatever happened to Team Free Will?"

"You'd given enough. You were happy."

"What and you think I'm happy now?"

"Would you rather have lost Sam?"

"I'd rather you came to me, Cas. We could have fixed it. That's what family does. We fixed Sam. No thanks to you."

There was no response and Dean realized Castiel had fallen unconscious again. He sighed and tied off the stitches on the last bullet wound. It wasn't neat, but it worked. He pulled a blanket over the angel's chest and walked into Bobby's office. "How's it going?"

"Just finishing up some symbols," Sam informed him. "Then all we need is an incantation."

"Bobby?" Dean asked.

"Hold your horses," he grumbled. "Translating ancient texts into something you idjits can read is no picnic."

"Don't worry, Bobby," Sam said. "Dean's got Hooked on Phonics now, so you don't have to dumb it down too much."

"Har har har," Dean rolled his eyes. "Just make sure to make it pretty for captain Stanford over here."

"Will you two pipe down?" Bobby demanded. "Or if you're going to keep at it, get out of my office."

"Sorry," Sam shrugged. "How's Cas?"

"I don't even know, man," Dean sighed. "I don't know what the Thief did to him, but he's not healing. I'm wondering if the bullets were coated in some kind of angel poison."

"Is there such a thing?"

"How do I know?" Dean shrugged. "He's out cold, so maybe we'll find out when he wakes up."

Dean didn't feel compelled to tell Sam that Cas had already woken. He was still a little disconcerted by the whole situation. "So tell me about the Tracker."

"The Tracker's second in command."

"To what?"

"Something called the Devourer," Sam rattled off. "The three of them make this weird holy-feeding team. The Thief steals the Prophet- or Angel's- eyes and learns everything that they know, which makes it easier to tell the Tracker where to go. The Tracker can sniff out holy energy within a few hundred miles, it looks like, so the Thief is more just a way to stay a step ahead. Once they find the Prophet, they deliver him to the Devourer… Or they summon the Devourer."

"Let me guess," Dean jumped in. "The Devourer devours."

"The whole Prophet," Sam nods grimly. "Bones and all. It shares the energy with the other two, and that's how they keep surviving. It only needs to feed once every five hundred years or so."

"So all we have to do is stop it from eating Cas until its five hundred years are up? Sounds easy enough."

"Yeah," Sam scoffed. "Or we could just kill them."

"And that will be much faster," Dean grinned at his brother. "So how do we kill the Devourer?"

"Let's worry about the Tracker first," Bobby chimed in. "You done with those symbols, Sam?"

Sam returned to chalking the floor. "Just about."

"Anything I can do to speed things up?" Dean asked.

Bobby opened his mouth to speak when something was knocked over in the kitchen. Dean poked his head out of the office. He grabbed a rifle from the bookcase just outside the door and chambered a round. He glanced into the spare room as he passed. Their blue eyed friend was still unconscious and alone in the room.

He glanced back toward the kitchen when he heard shuffling. It was accompanied by a snuffling noise and he backed up into the doorframe as a long-limbed creature hunched out of the kitchen. Its disgustingly long arms and fingers preceded it, crawling on their own, almost as though they were independent to the body, toward the room Dean was protecting. "Incoming!" he yelled to Sam and Bobby and pointed the rifle at what he could only assume was the Tracker.

Dean fired once, twice, hit the thing both times, but that just seemed to make it mad. He heard Sam announce that he was finished and then heard the Latin beginning to stream from Bobby's mouth.

So did the Tracker and, before Dean could stop it, it charged into the office, barreled over Bobby's desk and slammed him bodily into the fireplace. His head made a horrible noise as it hit the mantle and Dean charged in, ready to rip its head off.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three: I'm Tore Down

"Bobby!" Dean called out, but the older hunter remained motionless on the floor. He didn't look away from the Tracker as he said to his brother, "Sam. Get reading."

Dean fired at the thing. That drew its attention. It crossed the desk, so Sam managed to grab the paper. Dean glanced up at the ceiling. The Tracker should have been stopped as soon as it passed through the doorway. "Why don't devil's traps work on this thing, Sam?"

"Maybe because they eat holy beings!" Sam exclaimed and began to read.

The Tracker turned for his brother, and Dean fired the last round at it to no avail. Instead, he hooked the rifle over the Tracker's head and used it to make a headlock. It was slimy. The thing was slimy and a little bit spiny in the scale department. "Read faster, Sam!" Dean yelled as the thing's long, noodly arms reached back and began exploring Dean's face.

The spaghetti hands found Dean's neck, wrapped around, and began to squeeze. Dean pulled harder on the Tracker's neck, hoping against hope that the thing breathed like he did or he was going to lose this choking match. His vision was already starring, but he still found time to be grossed out by the fact that the demon's fingers could wrap all the way around his neck individually- even the thumbs.

He was going to need a very long shower after this was done.

Finally, as Dean's vision began to tunnel, the demon began to spasm and smoke a little. He met Sam's eyes as his brother glanced up from the page in concern. Dean wanted to tell him to stop wasting time, but he had the small problem of his windpipe being smashed.

Dean rammed the demon into a wall, and then it rammed him backward into the desk. This was not how Dean wanted to be spending his night. It felt like the demon's skin was vibrating against his neck, Sam said a few more words, and it went limp against the rifle. Dean dropped it and choked in air as the noodle fingers began to peel away from his neck.

Sam watched Dean in concern for a moment before remembering Bobby was unconscious behind the desk. Dean choked in some more air before forcing himself to his feet to help get Bobby to the sofa.

"It's not that bad," Sam said as they laid him down and propped him up against some pillow. "It's not even bleeding that bad."

"Sam-" Dean said in a warning tone. He was at his wit's end and had no idea where to go with that sentence or who he was warning, but he felt like he was a step or two away from snapping. Sam hoisted Bobby into a sitting position.

"How bad is it?" Sam asked Dean.

Dean removed Bobby's hat. His head was hardly gushing blood, but there was a steady stream filtering out through a one inch gash. "Keep him up like that. Maybe it'll keep more blood in his brain. I'll get the needle and thread."

He took a deep breath as he headed back toward the room where Cas was unconscious. He paused in the doorway. The angel was slumped against the windowsill. How did he get there? "Cas?" he asked uncertainly as he headed for the side table with the thread.

"Is everyone… alright?"

Dean frowned. "Bobby needs some stitches," he said. "What are you doing over there?"

"You should go help Bobby."

The hunter opened his mouth to reply but just shook his head. Bobby needed him a hell of a lot more than Cas, and he didn't have time to play the information game with a moping angel.

The worst part of stitching Bobby's head was when he woke up halfway through. "What are you idjits doing?" he grumbled.

"Closing up your head," Dean grumbled at him. "Unless you'd like a gaping hole back here letting all your blood out."

"Fine," the older hunter griped. "But I can sit up myself. Get off me, Sam. I don't want to be staring at your face this close for longer than I have to."

Sam held up his hands in surrender and backed off. Dean watched out of the corner of his eye as he headed to the office. He could hear the sounds of Sam picking up paper and broken furniture. They were going to have their hands full fixing the place if this didn't slow up.

Dean tied off the thread. "There you go," he said with a tap to the side of Bobby's head. "A perfect, unbroken, patch of skin. Just don't go ripping the stitches out."

"Where's my hat?"

Dean laughed a little. He grabbed it from the side table and passed it to Bobby. "Go easy on the stitches."

"Go easy on my house," Bobby threw back.

"We'll fix it," Dean shrugged. "We always do. Have to have something to do between monster hunts."

"Speaking of monsters," Bobby said as he stood. He took a moment to steady himself.

"Bobby, you lost a lot of blood-"

"Ain't stopped me before," he shrugged. "I'm going to go pick up my office. I recommend you go look after that angel in case something else shows up."

Dean glanced in the direction of Castiel's room. "What's wrong?" Bobby asked. "Afraid of him?"

"Something like that," Dean sighed. "Take it easy on yourself, Bobby. I'm serious about those stitches. I'm not doing it again, and Sam's no good at making it painless like I do."

"Yeah, you're a real peach," Bobby said as he slipped into the office.

Dean braced himself and headed back to Cas. He found the angel where he left him, leaning against the windowsill, face down, forehead resting on his arms. He shifted uncomfortably in the doorway and hoped really hard that Cas wasn't crying or something. "Cas."

There was no response. Dean didn't really expect one. He started forward to move the angel back into the bed. "Come on. I don't really want to stitch you back up if you do something stupid."

Cas flinched as Dean touched his shoulder. Dean paused. He wasn't terribly comfortable with the situation and felt a little out of his depth because he had no idea what was going on. "How is Bobby?" Cas asked.

"He'll live," Dean reported. "You want to tell me what's going on?"

"I don't understand. You seem to have figured it out."

"Figured it out?" Dean repeated. "Cas, you got shot and you're not healing. What kind of bullets do that to an angel?"

"I am not an angel."

Alarm flooded Dean's chest. "What?"

"My Father returned to Heaven," Cas recounted in a hollow voice. "He sent the souls back to Purgatory, and then He ripped my Grace from my chest. Just before I started to fall, I saw Him extinguish it. My Grace."

"Are you saying you're human?" Dean's brain was racing to keep up and not quite managing.

Cas's shoulders were shaking. Dean knelt down next to him. "Hey," he said. "Being human's not all that bad… I like to think the rest of us do okay…"

The fallen angel tensed, trying to stop the tears, Dean guessed. He looked up at the hunter, blue eyes shiny, and said "I don't want to be human. It… hurts too much."

"Well, you're all shot up," Dean reasoned. "Of course it hurts."

"I don't mean that."

"You mean being left by your dad," Dean suggested. "Sam and I know a bit about that, too."

"John Winchester never cast you out," Castiel pointed out softly. "This is like if your father literally carved your heart from your chest, burned it, and then somehow you were still alive. It is the biggest 'screw you' an angel can get."

"So prove him wrong," the hunter suggested. "I mean, do you want to sit here and cry about it, or do you want to show him you're still the best Angel of the Lord around?"

"I am not an Angel of the Lord."

"You have no Grace, sure," Dean shrugged. "But you're still Castiel."

Cas didn't reply, but Dean could see the ghost of a smile on the angel's face. "Now," Dean continued, cutting off the chick flick moment as soon as possible, "let's get you back to bed rest before you rip those stitches and make more work for-"

They both looked up as the house began to quake. "Uh-"

"I think the Devourer has found us," Cas said in a terrified voice.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four: Sinner's Prayer

"Stay there," Dean said to Cas as soon as he was seated on the edge of the bed. He grabbed a sawed off from the shelf as he bounded out of the room. He rounded the corner, and slammed back against the wall in shock. This thing was the size of a Hummer and it was taking up most of Bobby's living room. Its giant bulbous form stopped a foot shy of the ceiling, and its head lumped out from its body toward Dean, its teeth circling an opening in its face about the same circumference as Dean's torso.

"Dean!" Sam shouted.

"How do we kill this son of a bitch, Sam?" Dean yelled back. "Give me some good news!"

"I got nothing, Dean," Sam replied. "Just hack and slash and hopefully something works!"

"No news is _not_ good news, Sam!" Dean yelled as he fired a shot into the thing's mouth.

It hacked a little, and then its eyes narrowed on Dean. He fired again, and it swiped one giant stub of a front leg toward Dean. He wasn't entirely sure how he wound up slumped against the wall, but he was thrilled when he took in a lungful of air and tried to cough off the after effects of having the wind knocked out of him.

He forced himself to his feet just as the thing took a swipe at Sam. His brother dropped to the floor, so the Devourer only managed to take out a giant hunk of wall. Dean caught Bobby's eye through the newly formed hole and saw he was planning something. "Hey, ugly!" Dean yelled. He shot the thing in what he assumed was its butt. "We weren't through!"

It turned, almost disinterestedly, and took another swipe at Dean, who dropped, but instead of taking out the wall, the Devourer changed tactics and smashed down. This time, when Dean managed to choke air back in, he choked back out blood. He tried to force himself to get back up, but his legs wouldn't move. In fact, he couldn't feel them. "Son of a bitch!" he yelled and flipped himself onto his back, dragging himself and the sawed off toward a wall. He couldn't even sit up properly.

"Sam!" Dean heard Bobby yell. "Catch!"

Dean smiled a little when he saw what was in Sam's hand. "Eat this," Sam told the thing and threw the Molotov into the Devourer's mouth. Dean's smile evaporated when the monster clamped down on Sam's arm. His brother cried out in pain, and Dean began firing his weapon at the monster until it was out of bullets.

"Hey, ugly butt."

Dean turned to see Cas standing in the doorway to the living room. His insults still sucked, but he was getting better. Sort of. The monster inhaled and turned immediately to the fallen angel.

"You've been looking for me, haven't you?" Castiel asked. "Well, I have some bad news for you. You picked the wrong meal. My name is Castiel and I am an Angel of the Lord. Not a Prophet. Not an Archangel. I can see you. I can fight you. So, if you have any desire to keep on existing… I suggest you run. I don't take kindly to anything that hurts my friends."

Dean's eyes shot to the monster. It wasn't doing anything. He started to drag his useless legs to his brother. He hoped it was his own blood he was smelling, but knew it couldn't be. Cas was talking to the monster again, but Dean wasn't listening. He had to get to Sammy. His brother was bleeding. "Sammy!"

There was no response. "Dean, get some towels from the kitchen," Bobby called out to him.

No time for that, Dean thought. He finally reached his brother and pulled off his jacket. Dean tried really hard not to vomit. Sam's arm was almost gone. He wrapped it around the stump, taking over for Bobby, who was holding the artery. "You're going to be fine, Sammy," Dean promised. "We're going to get you to a hospital and-"

"Shut up, Dean," Sam whispered. "I'm not five anymore."

Dean felt like he'd been stabbed. "You don't have to lie for me," Sam said again, in that horrifyingly weak voice.

"Who said I was lying for you?" Dean asked with a self-deprecating smile and a tear rolled out of his eye. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat. "Stay with me, Sam."

He whirled around at the sound of Castiel's body crashing across the room. The angel's head rose from his chest, looked at Dean in a disoriented way before finding the monster on his other side. It stalked toward Cas, slavering in anticipation, and Dean had no idea what to do.

Suddenly Cas looked back at Dean, at Sam. Then he turned his gaze to the ceiling. He was whispering something and Dean couldn't hear. He turned back to his brother whose eyes were rolling back into his head. "Sam-" Dean wavered. "No, no, no, Sam. Sam. Sam!"

The Devourer roared and lunged for Castiel who was yelling words Dean could not understand. Just as his brother's eyes closed, a bright white light began to fill the room.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five: From the Cradle

"Shut your eyes!" Cas bellowed as the lights and windows began to shatter. Dean kept his eyes open, staring at Sam, willing him to breathe, until the light was literally so bright that he couldn't.

He leaned down until his forehead was against his brother's. "Not like this, man," he begged, thumb still depressing the artery on what was left of Sam's arm. "Not when I can't follow. I'm… lame. I can't hunt anymore, Sammy. Don't let me die old and alone."

Finally, the light faded. Dean opened his eyes. Sam was still unmoving, unbreathing, and Dean could not think that word. He had thought that word when he spent that year with Lisa and Ben, and when Sam came back he swore he'd never think it again.

A hand reached past his shoulder to touch Sam's. His brother took a deep gasping breath, face terrified for a moment before he realized where he was. "Welcome back, man," Dean grinned. He refused to acknowledge the wetness in his eyes.

"Hey, Dean," Sam said tightly. "You want to get off me?"

Dean laughed and forced himself off to the side. He looked up, expecting to see Cas, but instead he saw… "Chuck?"

The writer did not smile. He did not reply, only touched Dean's shoulder. Suddenly he could move his legs again. Then Chuck turned to Cas. It was then that Dean noticed there was no Devourer in the room. Where had it gone?

His eyes flicked back to Chuck who approached Cas, knelt down in front of him, and reached a hand to touch the side of the fallen angel's head. Cas shut his eyes and leaned into the touch. Dean had no idea what he was seeing.

When Chuck backed away, there were tears in Castiel's eyes. Dean waited for Cas or Chuck to say something. "Dude," Dean interrupted. "Chuck. Since when are you creepy silent man?"

But Chuck did not turn and Cas simply continued to stare at the writer. Then the room began to fill with the light again. When it dissipated, Chuck was gone. Instead of taking a minute to process, Dean decided to hop to his feet and remember why he loved have working legs so much. "Hey, Sammy," Dean smirked. "Guess who's not a cripple anymore."

"What?"

"Me," Dean said, face falling marginally that Sam didn't get it. "I was Bobby on wheels with no wheels. Did you see me? I was _lame_."

"Cas, Bobby, you okay?" Sam asked.

Dean glanced at the other two sheepishly. He couldn't help it if he was feeling pumped. They'd just faced a giant truck-sized monster and had come out of it unscathed. "Fine," Bobby said. "Good to see you with all four limbs."

"I need to learn to drive a car," Cas said suddenly.

Dean turned his head, but could only look at the angel as though he'd lost his mind. Castiel seemed to be asking him. "What are you talking about, Cas?" Dean finally asked.

"Will you teach me to drive a car?"

"Why?"

"Because I cannot fly."

Fair enough. "Any particular reason you need to know now?"

"Because I cannot be an angel, so I will be a hunter."

Sam, ever quick to pick up on everything asked, "You can't be an angel?"

"Sure I'll teach you, Cas," Dean interrupted before Cas could get that look he'd had earlier when he'd told Dean about having his Grace extinguished. He paused. Was Chuck…? No, that'd be ridiculous. Chuck was a writer who got holy visions. He was a wimp. "How about we all go out for drinks or something? We'll worry about driving lessons and… fixing the house… tomorrow."

"Oh, you bet you're going to worry about fixing the house," Bobby muttered. "I'm getting too old for this crap."

"Yes, you are," Dean teased. He glanced around the room at his brother, at Bobby, at Castiel. Nothing was perfect, and they had some distance to cover, but his family was alive and that was good.

_If I mistreat you girl, sure don't mean no harm_

_If I mistreat you girl, sure don't mean no harm_

_Well, I'm a motherless child. Don't know right from wrong…_

_Lord, I'm going to the river, get me a tangled rocking chair._

_I'm going to the river, get me a tangled rocking chair._

_And if the blues overtake me, gonna rock away from here._

End notes: Hope you liked. Side note- All chapter titles (including the title of the whole fic are titles from Eric Clapton's album _From the Cradle_. If you are in a blues-y mood, you need it. The end.


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